


all i need;

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23518666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “This is the banquet,” he said slowly, “that you’re always talking about, yes?”Jaskier flushed, a bit embarrassed, as he tucked the invitation away again. “It says I can bring a guest.”“And I wish you luck in finding one,” he replied with a snort.Relationship or not, Geralt was still just…Geralt,and that was why Jaskier loved him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 535





	all i need;

**Author's Note:**

> written for one of my supporters! <3
> 
> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier had been waiting for _years_ to get invited to the biggest celebration of the Continent, a banquet held every year and attended by only the best of the best.

But he had never been invited for obvious reasons; for so long he had been a nobody, just a struggling bard like many others. But then he had met Geralt and his life had changed in so many different ways—all good.

Now he was _revered_ for his songs and talents. He could easily carry them even if Geralt never took another job.

But more than that, he was in a relationship with Geralt—a _real_ , unexpected relationship.

It had taken years— _centuries_ —but eventually they had grown closer, week by week, month by month, until one night Jaskier had straddled Geralt on his bedroll and he had looked up at him with dark, questioning eyes.

“Is this okay?” he had asked, eyelashes fluttering.

He had gotten the impression that Geralt wanted this just as much as him, but if not, he’d happily roll off his lap and pretend like this had never happened. He _wanted_ Geralt, in every possible way, but he wouldn’t risk their friendship for it.

He would rather have him in his life as a friend than not at all.

But then—“ _Yes_ ,” he had growled, and they had kissed and the rest was history.

Point being, he had no expectations. He knew he’d probably never be invited; there were surely better bards for such an extravagant event. He was okay with that; he had everything he could ever want. Like Geralt, who was currently back at the inn.

“You’re Julian Alfred Pankratz?”

Jaskier looked away from the stall he had been eyeing and toward a burly man dressed formally. He arched an eyebrow and considered if Geralt could hear him from all the way across the town if he screamed. Probably; benefits of having a mutant for a partner. “I am,” he said slowly. “Why?”

He pulled a rolled piece of parchment out from under his arm, wrapped with a ribbon.

“For you,” he said gruffly.

Jaskier eyed him skeptically as he took it, unrolling the parchment. His eyes almost bulged out of his head. He had been cordially invited as a special guest to perform at the banquet. It was held in a city not far from there, but they would still need to hurry if they wanted to make it.

“I—” Jaskier looked up. He didn’t know what to say. He had been waiting for this, dreaming of it.

But now it was happening. It was real. He was being rewarded—and acknowledged—for his hard work.

The man simply bowed before he turned and walked away. Jaskier wasn’t deterred; he rolled the parchment back up and ran toward the inn.

*

Geralt was sitting on the bed, sharpening his swords, when he returned. It was an unfair sight; Geralt was shirtless, just in his trousers, and his arms bulged as he scraped the swords across the stone. Jaskier only snapped out of it when he asked, all amusement, “Did something happen?”

“Oh—yes,” he said quickly, scurrying over. He joined Geralt on the bed, their thighs touching. “Look.”

He unfolded the parchment and Geralt’s eyes skimmed the words, quick.

“This is the banquet,” he said slowly, “that you’re always talking about, yes?”

Jaskier flushed, a bit embarrassed, as he tucked the invitation away again. “It says I can bring a guest.”

“And I wish you luck in finding one,” he replied with a snort.

Relationship or not, Geralt was still just… _Geralt_ , and that was why Jaskier loved him.

“ _You_ should be my date,” he said, resting his chin on his shoulder. Geralt peered down at him, no longer sharpening his swords. Jaskier gently moved the stuff out of the way—his swords, the stone—and straddled him. “It could be a good way to make our relationship public,” he pointed out. They had been together for months, but largely the public did not know that.

They weren’t hiding it or anything. Just weren’t screaming it from the rooftops.

Geralt hummed, sliding his hands under Jaskier’s shirt and resting them on his back. His hands were warm and calloused. “Have you ever known me to enjoy banquets?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “I am not a fan of dancing or singing or unwanted company.”

“False,” he replied, chipper. “You enjoy _my_ singing.”

Geralt smiled, just the barest hint of teeth, “And do you think you’ll be the only bard performing?”

“Well, no,” he answered, “but you don’t have to pay attention to them. Just me.”

Geralt sighed deeply and nosed at his cheek, lips ghosting over his jaw.

“You also enjoy beer,” he said, low. “I’m sure there’ll be lots and lots of beer.”

Geralt rubbed his hands up and down his back. “I am not attending,” he said. “End of conversation.”

It wasn’t, and they both knew it.

An hour later, after they were both exhausted from sex, Jaskier started up again, “I really want you there.”

Geralt rolled over and peered at him in the dark. “You do?”

“This is something I’ve always dreamed of, Geralt,” he said, grabbing one of his hands and squeezing. “Of course I want you there,” he repeated, eyelashes fluttering. “I _always_ want you there with me, through thick and thin—”

Geralt shifted a little closer, “Enough of that.”

Jaskier grinned in the dark. He knew Jaskier couldn’t see _him_ , but he could easily see him. A benefit of his mutation. “Too sappy?”

He grunted in reply, nosing at his hair.

Jaskier squeezed his hand again. “ _Please_ ,” he said, and Geralt pulled back. He was staring at him with big, earnest eyes and—fuck, was that a pout?

“You are a _brat_ ,” he said, though with no real heat.

Jaskier batted his eyelashes. “Please, Geralt,” he said. “Do it—for me?”

Geralt glared at him. It was pointless; he couldn’t see him. He never thought he’d be so wrapped around the bard’s finger. He would’ve been annoyed if he wasn’t so happy.

“What do I get out of it?” he asked eventually, just to be difficult.

Jaskier placed a hand on his chest, bright-eyed and grinning. “Hmm, _how_ about—” His hand, surprisingly rough from years of playing, moved down his stomach, lower, lower. Geralt groaned like it’d been punched out of him. Jaskier knew how to play _him_ as well as his lute. Again, Geralt should’ve been annoyed but he wasn’t.

“Okay,” he said. “Fuck. Okay.”

Jaskier laughed against his shoulder. “You’re _way_ too easy.”

Geralt growled, impatient, and Jaskier finally wrapped his fingers around him.

*

They traveled for a few days, and on the third stopped for the night, setting up camp near a stream. Jaskier was vibrating with excitement. Geralt was not—predictably—but he also wasn’t raining on Jaskier’s parade, because he was a _good_ partner, thank you very much.

“I can’t believe it,” he said brightly. “I’ve been waiting for this day, and now— _Gods_ , I don’t even know what I should play.”

He paced around the campfire. Geralt was calmly sitting on their shared bedroll.

“I was thinking,” he continued suddenly, looking up at the sky, “something _fun_ and _upbeat_ , you know.”

Geralt didn’t reply, just watched with an odd expression. The sun was setting, casting shadows on their faces.

“But also maybe something slower,” he continued, “since slow dancing is a big thing—”

Geralt interjected quickly, “You don’t expect _us_ to do any of that,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Jaskier paused, smiling slightly. “What do you mean?”

He grimaced, looking away. “I can’t do it.”

Jaskier walked around the fire and crouched in front of him. Geralt pointedly did not look at him. That’s how he knew it was something juicy; Geralt _loved_ looking at him. “Do _what?_ ”

“ _Dance_ ,” he replied through clenched teeth.

Jaskier almost laughed—probably would have laughed if Geralt didn’t look so solemn.

“Not even a little bit,” he continued, finally looking at him.

Jaskier frowned at that. “If you can do all those fancy spins you do when fighting,” he said, a fact, “then dancing should be no problem.”

He grabbed Geralt’s hand, squeezing, and pulled him to his feet. Geralt could’ve denied him if he wanted to—he was much stronger, and they both knew it—but he didn’t.

“ _Julian_ ,” he said, like he always did when he was exasperated with him, “What are you doing?”

Jaskier placed one of Geralt’s hands on his back, “ _I_ am teaching you how to dance,” he said brightly.

An amused snort, and he tried to pull away—

“Geralt,” he said, a determined set to his jaw. “Please?”

He sighed and stepped closer upon Jaskier’s request, their chests almost touching. “Right,” he said. “Just like that, and now watch my feet, okay?”

Geralt grunted in reply, and Jaskier moved his feet. Left, right, back, forward. Geralt followed, but soon stepped on Jaskier’s right foot. He winced at the pain, and Geralt tried to pull away again, frowning.

“This is stupid,” he said gruffly. “I can’t do it.”

Jaskier squeezed his hand. “You can,” he said. “Just try again.”

Geralt stared at him for a long, silent moment before nodding. If it was anyone else, he would tell them to fuck off but Jaskier was special. Always had been if he’s being honest. For him, he would try.

Clearing his throat, he watched Jaskier’s feet and then tried following him again.

Left, forward, right, back.

Geralt had learned a lot about agility, and such, being raised as he had been but there was something wildly different about this. Jaskier moved, quick and sharp but slow and soft. It was a weird mix that he struggled to copy.

He kept trying, again and again.

Jaskier finally sighed, and he was sure this was it—he had given up.

“Okay, new plan,” he said, that same determined set to his jaw. “Don’t watch my feet.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow, “Do you seriously think that will help?” _He_ certainly didn’t think so.

“Here,” he said, positioning them back at the beginning. “Look at me. My face.”

Geralt smiled, just the barest hint of teeth. “Well, okay.” He wasn’t complaining; he adored looking at Jaskier. But he didn’t think it would work.

“Just look at me, and listen to my voice,” he said as he started moving again. “Left.”

Geralt stepped to the left, staring at Jaskier’s face; there were dark shadows under his eyes, his chin. The sun had been replaced by the moon without them even realizing.

“Right,” he continued, and Geralt listened, stepping to the right with Jaskier.

Jaskier beamed at him. Geralt smiled back, unable to help himself. They continued like that for a bit.

“You’re doing it,” he whispered finally, almost like he was afraid to break the spell.

Geralt had noticed, of course, but didn’t want to say anything. Perhaps he had been enjoying himself far more than he had anticipated. He always enjoyed being pressed up against Jaskier, to be fair. Maybe _one_ banquet— _one_ dance with Jaskier in front of others—wouldn’t be so bad, especially if it made Jaskier even half as happy as he made him.

“I am,” he conceded, slowing. “And look.” He pointed at the sky, dark with hundreds of sparkling stars.

Jaskier looked up, eyelashes fluttering.

“We should sleep,” he continued. “You want to be well-rested for tomorrow, I’m presuming?”

But then the most shocking thing happened—Jaskier looked at him with the biggest grin he had ever seen, bright-eyed and tugging him closer. “Fuck the banquet,” he said, “ _This_ is far better.”

Geralt smiled, a little too raw, a little too honest. “You don’t mean that,” he said. He couldn’t; he had been waiting for this for years, long before they had met.

“Surprisingly,” he said, “I think I do.”

Jaskier nosed at his jaw, his breath tickling his throat. Geralt brushed a hand through his hair.

“This is it, Geralt,” he said finally.

Geralt smiled, a bit confused, eyes crinkled around the corners. “What do you mean?”

He pulled back, still bright-eyed but surprisingly serious as he reached up and stroked the side of Geralt’s face with his thumb. It was romantic, almost too romantic for them, but he wasn’t unhappy with the development. He leaned into Jaskier’s touch, his fingertips rough from years of playing.

“ _This_ —” he gestured with his other hand, a full circle “—is everything I need.”

Geralt’s heart squeezed almost painfully. He wondered, sometimes, how Jaskier was so _brave_ and open and honest.

“I don’t need money or fancy clothes,” he continued, smiling slightly, “or even fame to be happy.”

Geralt swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. “Yeah?” he asked, almost nervously. Most days he still thought Jaskier deserved better than him, but he was too selfish to push him away. He had tried that—long ago—and he still regretted it, the look of hurt on Jaskier’s face on the mountain.

“I just need _you_ ,” he said, “and somewhere to play and sing; woods, banquet, makes no difference.”

Geralt rubbed his hands down his back. He opened his mouth to say something, but—Roach snorted loudly. Jaskier looked over with a toothy grin.

“Sorry,” he said. “Did I forget you?”

Roach snorted again, and he laughed, turning back.

“I feel the same way,” Geralt said finally. If Jaskier could be honest, the least he could do was try. “Before you, I thought I’d be happy—no, _content—_ just killing monsters and jumping from town to town.” Now for the hard part, the real honesty. “But I think I had just convinced myself it was what I deserved.”

Jaskier smiled softly. “You are a _good_ man, Geralt,” he said. “Better than you know.”

He changed the subject, feeling like a fish out of water, “If you don’t want to sleep, what _do_ you want to do?”

“I think,” he said, placing his hands back in their proper positions, “I want to keep dancing.”

Geralt laughed quietly. “All night?”

“I don’t know,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek. “Think you can keep up?”

Geralt’s eyes twinkled with amusement. He placed his hands back how they had been, mirroring Jaskier.

“I can try,” he said.


End file.
